


Mal d'amour

by Laequiem



Category: The Folk of the Air - Holly Black
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Cardan pov, F/M, Is there a plot? Who knows, Kinda, Pining, Post-Book 2: The Wicked King, mostly just feels and rambling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-14 07:15:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29414727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laequiem/pseuds/Laequiem
Summary: 5 times the High King of Elfhame missed his exiled wife + 1 time she had enough.
Relationships: Cardan Greenbriar/Nicasia, Jude Duarte/Cardan Greenbriar
Comments: 23
Kudos: 142





	1. Chapter 1

Nothing had prepared me for how hard it would be to play the lavish host to Queen Orlagh and her retinue. How the blueish tint of their skin would remind me of Jude's ashen skin when she came out of the water. How their strident laugh would piece me like knives when they mock her fate. Some of them even came up to me, telling me I did well to send her away, that she did not belong here anyway. Others would imply that I ought to hunt her down, kill her like she killed my brother. The talion principle, an eye for an eye, a law older than any of us. 

The worst of it all, however, is having to entertain the possibility of a relationship between me and Nicasia, be it friendly or more. All eyes are on us as I twirl her across the room, as we have done so many times before. 

"It's amazing how the tides have turned," Nicasia muses.

I do not reply. Every part of our bodies touching feels utterly wrong. Her hand is too moist, too cold. My other arm is braced against her side and I can feel her ribs through her gown, protruding just like Jude’s did after Nicasia, Balekin and Queen Orlagh tortured her for weeks. Her other hand is holding on to my arm, digging more than necessary.

"Once, I thought we would get married and _you_ would join my kingdom. Now," her hand creeps up my shoulder, sending an unwelcome shiver down my body, "you're the one with the Kingdom."

"And you're in line for your throne," I reply flatly.

"Indeed,” Nicasia replies, closing some of the distance between us as she presses her head against my chest, “Imagine how strong we would be together."

Her hand moves up my nape to my hair and I bite down my snarl. Instead, I whip my tail up and yank her wrist away, pinning it to my waist.

"Are you implying Elfhame is weak?" I raise a brow.

"No, I—," she sighs, "Cardan, we could be so much more. Together."

"I can have a lot more fun without being tied up in alliances," I say with a grin, "some of us cut ties before wandering."

Since my ascension to the throne, I have become quite good at twisting words and making others think what I want them to. I have always had a way with words, but it has become crucial now to hide my feelings, the anguish I feel everytime I am reminded of Jude's absence. It is not lying, as I _could_ spend my nights with fae draped over me and worshipping me. I could, if I wanted to. Instead, my bed has been cold since the day I shared it with Jude. Sometimes, when I turn in my sleep, I get a whiff of her smell—coppery, not unlike blood, with a hint of cinnamon and wraithberry. 

Nicasia glares at me, and for a moment, I think she might slap me.

“What do you want from me, Cardan,” she says instead, a hint of sadness in her voice, “an apology?”

I remove my hand from her side and spin her as the music reaches its crescendo. I end the spin by bringing her back against my chest, impossibly close. Closer than I have let her be since we started dancing, closer than we have been since I caught her cheating on me.

“I want nothing from you,” I nuzzle her neck and whisper in her ear, “and it’s High King Cardan to you.”


	2. Chapter 2

The Living Council has been restless this past month. The treaties with the undersea have been signed, but the peace it brings is fragile. Still, I cannot get myself to care. There was a time I enjoyed being High King, in those first few months when it was novel and I had my Seneschal to make all the important decisions for me. Nowadays, I catch myself wondering if giving up the throne to Madoc would really be that bad. Who knows, it might even bring back Jude, even if it is only to plant a dagger through my chest.

"Your Majesty, we received another proposition," Baphen says tentatively as he slides a letter my way, "I know we talked about it before but—"

I look at the note, the bright green paper obvious in its provenance, then glare at the Royal Astrologer. Dancing next to the hearth, Grand Fool Fala is singing a particularly crude song about _sleeping with fishes_.

"But it's time for you to pick a Queen," Randalin continues, "Your approval rate is lower than ever. With the rebellion growing, we fear that more courts will ally with them."

Baphen is twisting his hands nervously, "An alliance with the Undersea—"

I pick up the algae paper and tear it, “No.”

Baphen cringes visibly and Randalin sighs. 

“We also received a proposition from the Court of Teeth,” Randalin says matter-of-factly, “Our mole tells us they are getting closer to the rebels, and marrying their Queen could get them to swear fealty.”

"Queen Suren is a _child_ !” I snarl, “I'm not marrying a _child_."

 _I'm not marrying anyone. I am already married._ I wish everyone knew. I wish Jude was here. 

Randalin rolls his eyes, as if I was being difficult. 

"We need an alliance to ensure your place on the throne,” he says, unrelenting.

My father would have ordered a cull of the rebels, but I am not my father. What would Jude do? Probably go after Madoc herself. I certainly cannot do that, but I also refuse to get married.

I want to scream. I want to tell them I already have a wife, that she is the Queen this kingdom needs. Would they believe me? Would they think me mad? Surely, they would think me foolish for marrying a mortal.

Not that it matters, since she never replied to my letters. She does not want to come back.

“Make Nicasia our ambassador to the Undersea,” I say, tapping my fingers on the mahogany table, “that should appease her mother for some time.”

“Your Majesty, we know you two have history, but this is about more than… hurt feelings,” Baphen says carefully, “We could get the forces we need to defeat the rebels from Princess Nicasia’s dowry.”

I rub at my temples. We have had this discussion dozens of times now, always the same arguments, always the same females being thrown my way like prized mares. Nicasia is obviously the choice the Living Council favours. I did, too, once. I treated her like the Queen she will someday become. She had made me feel like I was worth loving, chose me over my other siblings, and I loved her like I had never loved anyone before. Together, we were untouchable, a villainous duo to be feared and left alone. She was all I needed, and I had thought she felt the same way about me. Everyday, we spent hours tangled together, learning each other's bodies and desires. And when I found her lying in bed with Locke, something broke. Call it love, call it friendship, whatever I felt for her immediately went away. Everyone mocked me. Faeries don't care about loyalty, about monogamy. Nobody understood that it wasn't about that. She had made me feel like I was enough, and suddenly I wasn't. Like I wasn't enough for my father, for my mother, for Balekin.

Jude, on the other hand, my chosen Queen… I treated her horribly. I taunted her, spat on her, pulled her hair. I did all I could so she would just _go away_ from Faerieland, from my mind. Yet she would be at my feet, covered in dirt, and still I felt small under her stare. She defied me, time and time again, because she saw _through_ me. Jude broke down my walls, saw through the cruel mask I wore. We argued, we fought, we betrayed each other. She tricked me by putting a crown on my head, and I tricked her by exiling her. But with her help, I managed not to burn down the kingdom. She thought me worthy of the throne, even if I were nothing but a puppet for her own goals. I trusted her, she did not need a geas to control me. There were times I believed she also trusted me—until I exiled her, and ruined everything.

“You would rule over land and sea,” Randalin continues, “The Undersea is the biggest Kingdom in size. While they are secretive about their numbers, we believe they are one of the most populous—”

“You seem to forget about the Mortal Realm and the solitary fae.”

“Of course, Your Majesty. The solitary fae can be bound through the tithe by the lower courts sworn to us. As for the mortals,” Randalin snorted, “An alliance with them would not do us any good. Except to produce heirs.”

Mikkel nodded, but Nihuar seemed uncomfortable. The Seelie Minister is more sympathetic towards mortals, but I know she is still against marrying one.

“Cursed king, cruel and cold, wed to a withering queen,” Fala sings from his corner of the room. I ignore him, but I wonder if he knows something the others don't.

“Then, I suppose we are once again stuck,” I say coldly as I wave a hand to dismiss them, “I tire of this discussion. Find another solution.”

They all file out of the room, with bows of varying depths, and leave me sitting alone in the meeting room. 

Am I even still married to Jude? Our vows did include an exit clause, and while _I_ still want to be married to her, she might not.

Perhaps I should let her go.

Perhaps I am being stubborn.


	3. Chapter 3

When I received an invitation for a party Locke was throwing, I immediately knew the occasion. I did not even realize I knew Jude’s birthday—until I banished her six months ago and every little thing seemed to remind me of her. This particular memory was triggered when I walked through the grove where we had our lectures. I was taken back to seeing the twins open their lunch bags and taking out a piece of cake, my stomach twisting in jealousy and longing like it did back in the day. Somehow, my brain must have registered the date, only to throw it back in my face at the worst possible moment. 

After that, I would daydream about her next birthday. She would be back by now and I would throw my biggest ball yet. Have her dance with me, up on the dais. Declare her my High Queen for the whole kingdom to witness. Maybe even finally proclaim my love for her, in front of everyone. I imagined the way her face would shift, cheeks red with embarrassment, her eyes narrow and full of rage. How I would take my time kissing it away. 

The idea had me so excited that I had told my Master of Revels to mark his calendar for the biggest revel of his career. Days turned to weeks, then to months and she did not come back. When Locke asked again about it a month ago, I told him to let it go.

I thought he had, until I received the invitation. I immediately knew it was some sort of mockery, though I was unsure who it was directed at. Still, I felt obliged to attend, as I still maintained the illusion that we were friends.

As I take in his estate, sitting on a luxurious bench elevated on a makeshift dias, I understand the mockery was not directed towards me. No, it seems every detail was specifically chosen to remind Taryn of her mortality. 

Locke's particular brand of cruelty is less direct than mine, but I have learned over the years to identify it. To this day, I still check my bed for hay before slipping under the covers. I have taken to locking my door before going to sleep so I do not wake up with cat whiskers drawn on my face.

The crumbling chocolate cake is meant to represent dirt, the coconut shavings acting as a substitute for worms. I know the beautiful young fae dancing on the balconies are meant to remind Taryn of her aging body, the lighting angled to accentuate the firmness of their lithe bodies. Vats of wine top every table, as a reminder of what she cannot have. Not because she avoids faerie wine, as Taryn is quite used to our delicacies. No, I realize as I gaze to where she stands, holding a glass of water, a hand cradling her swelling stomach. Taryn is with child.

I wonder how Locke reacted, if he showed any hint of caring. By the way he fondles a fae boy pressed against the walls of his hedge maze, his tongue eagerly exploring his throat, I suppose not. Taryn is pointedly ignoring her husband, smiling softly as she chats with another guest. 

My treacherous thoughts wander to that day Jude asked me to charm Nicasia. A small price to pay for the memories of her sprawled on the mossy floor, moaning my name softly as I pleasured her. It did not go further than me touching and tasting her, yet I will cherish the memories forever.

_ I wanted to get it out of my system. _

She claimed that she did. How I want it to be the same for me. 

Instead, I long for her.

Is Jude, like her twin, ready to start a new chapter in her life? 

Did she find some human to replace me while I shrug away any advances courtesans make me?

Was there even something to replace? 

Perhaps I am a fool to think I was anything more than a thorn in her side.

I swirl the wine in my goblet, watching the gold flecks glitter in the light of the rising sun. Is it morning already? Everything has become so dull lately—the sunrise is less colorful, the sky is always covered, it rains more than usual, flowers tend to die before blooming. The opposite of how Elfhame seemed to thrive when I first became High King.

I get up abruptly from my bench, making the fae massaging my feet jump in surprise. It is the first time since I arrived, hours ago, that I leave my post. All night, I have been but a statue watching over the debauchery, my presence no more than a necessity. 

Without a word, without a look at Locke, or Taryn, I leave the premises.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're enjoying this, feel free to leave a comment, I love reading them. :)


	4. Chapter 4

_ I sit on an unfamiliar throne, the hard coral digging into my kelp-bound limbs. I try to call on my power, but all I can feel is the water pressing on me, the heavy weight of it blocking my connection to the land. _

_ "You did this," a voice whispers to me, far but clear as day, "you sent her away." _

_ In front of the dais, Jude's emaciated body floats a few feet above the sea floor. Next to her, a male stands, bloody knife in hand. His dark hair floats around his head like a crown of algae. _

_ "Can you taste it, her blood in the water?" the voice continues, "An eye for an eye. Blood for blood." _

_ The male slashes Jude's stomach next, and she screams. The sound reaches me so quickly—much quicker than it would above land.  _

_ "Cardan, please—" Jude sobs, "please make it stop." _

_ I try my magic again, in vain. I'm useless, cursed to watch her die as some sadist tortured her. The male bends over her and brings his face to the wound. Angling his head to look at me, he licks the blood coming out of the new wound. Not just some sadist— me.  _

_ She was not begging me for help.  _

_ No, Jude Duarte does not need me.  _

_ She was begging for mercy. _

_ I watch powerlessly as the other me drives the knife through Jude's throat, and everything goes black. _

My throat is sore and dry, as it has been every night for weeks. The next few minutes are familiar as well. I dry heave above the bucket placed next to my bed and, as I'm still catching my breath, one of Jude's spies dashes in from the tunnels connecting my rooms to the Court of Shadows. Today, the chore of attending to the High King’s nightmares rests on Liliver’s shoulders.

"Your Majesty," she bows and immediately straightens.

She gives me a quick once-over, not bothered in the least by my nakedness. Her gaze does not linger, simply assessing that the threat is purely in my head.

"The usual?" she asks simply.

"More or less," I reply, my voice hoarse from the screaming that woke me.

It is never the same. The dreams are different every night. This is the first time I watch  _ myself  _ torture her. Signs of my guilt are not uncommon, but it was never so… literal. I bring my legs up towards my chest and rest my forehead on my knees.

"I miss her."

The Bomb is silent for a moment.

"You could go get her," she says calmly, "we can send scouts and get a team to come with you—"

"No," I reply coldly, "if she does not want to come back, I will respect her wishes."

"Maybe she doesn't know she can," she tries.

"I sent her letters. I told her—" I feel my throat closing up, the guilt bubbling inside me, "I told her so many things, Liliver. She never replied."

Furthermore, Jude is smart. I have no trouble believing her clever enough to find the loophole I weaved into her banishment.

"How do you know she received them?"

I lift my head to look at her, "I suppose I don't."

I still doubt this is what happened. I trust my messengers, and I doubt dozens of letters could get lost on the way to the Mortal Realm. No, there are only two options: either she throws any letter that she suspects are from me before reading them, or she is done with living amongst the fae. 

The Bomb contemplates me in silence. I get up and walk to the room that serves as my office. I open the first drawer and pull a latch on its side, allowing me to open the secret compartment and pull out what I have hidden inside.

The box has been wrapped ever since it arrived, barely a month after Jude left. 

I had the crown made for her barely a week after she left, back when I still had hopes of her bursting through the door with the answer to my riddle. I would have it brought before me and crowned her in front of the whole court. The crown was designed specifically for her, gem-encrusted iron with sharp angles, a dangerous piece for my lethal Queen. Even through the box, I can smell the iron. The crown has been gathering dust in my useless desk ever since, waiting as I do for her to come back.

In the early days of her banishment, I would pen at least one letter a day, though I rarely sent that many. A couple a week. After the initial weeks, I started only sending one a week. Then once every two weeks. I have not sent one this month yet. If she decides to never come back, I want my last gift to her to be a reminder of what she achieved in Elfhame, how high she climbed. 

For this will be my last gift to her, my last letter.

I pick up a piece of paper embossed with the royal seal and a quill, then write a short note. Out of the corner of my eyes, I see Liliver hovering around me, trying to see over my shoulder. I fold the note and stick it to the package, then turn to her.

"I want one of you three to deliver this to Jude," I order, "I don't care how, or who, but I want you to make sure she receives it."

The Bomb nods and takes the package, then leaves quietly using the secret passageway.

And now I wait. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear there's some kind of happy ending coming, thank you for suffering through the angst  
> I'm on tumblr [@laequiem](http://laequiem.tumblr.com) if you want to send me prompts/requests or just cry with me over fictional characters


	5. Chapter 5

**Cardan**

It was already dark when I woke up from my dream and gave the package to Liliver. Due to mortals’ strange habit of living during the day, we have to wait the entire night before one of the spies can deliver the package. 

Needless to say, I do not pay much attention to the various meetings and meals I attend during the night. I doubt courtiers notice, given my usual blasé attitude. 

My participation in today’s revel consists mostly of drinking wine and asking the servants for more wine. Whenever someone approaches me for requests or conversation, I reply so shortly that they leave quickly. Nearing sunrise, the Ghost approaches and tells me the package is on its way.

I try to look like I am at least enjoying the revel in front of me. My tail is curled around my calf to prevent it from lashing wildly and betraying my nervousness. My fingers drum absentmindedly on the armrests of the throne as I stare distantly at nothing.

I only last half an hour after the Ghost’s appearance before I retreat from the throne room. 

**The Bomb**

The air of Portland, Maine stinks of iron and gasoline. Nothing like the mossy and flowery scent of Elfhame. Liliver lifts her scarf over her glamoured face, hoping the fabric will filter some of the iron out. It doesn't work, not really, but at least she will not be staying here for long.

High King Cardan has assigned her the task of delivering a package, as if her talents weren't better used elsewhere. She had agreed, or course—money is money. Plus, she hopes to sneak a glimpse of Jude and assess how her friend is doing. 

Ever since she left, she has been fighting the urge to peek at the contents of the package. It is about the size and weight of a dinner plate and is delicately wrapped in dark green fabric. Seeing how the King hid the thing, it must be quite valuable.

From the rooftop of the building opposite Vivienne Duarte’s apartment, Liliver can see Jude. She is sprawled on an old couch, numbly looking at some square box with moving images. She seems to be the only person in the small house right now—the perfect moment to deliver the package. The High King has made it clear that Jude has to be seen receiving it. Liliver cannot blame him for being careful. 

She makes her way across the street, climbing the stairs as quietly as she can. After placing the box on the floor, she presses the button next to the door and knocks twice. She then jumps to the roof of the adjacent building, making sure she has a good view of the door.

And then she waits.

**Jude**

Jude groans as she gets up from her spot on the couch for the first time since waking up this morning. Vivi left for work hours ago. Usually, she tells Jude when she is expecting a delivery. Maybe the person rang the wrong doorbell. Still, Jude makes her way to the front door. A peek through the peephole reveals that nobody is on the other side. 

It’s been _30 seconds_ , they better not have put one of those “sorry we missed you!” notices or else she swears—

The package is there, on the front porch, but it clearly was not delivered by the postal service. There is no address, just a name: her name in elegant cursive letters. The same handwriting that is on the note she keeps on her nightstand. 

Cardan’s.

Her chest tightens and she takes a deep breath. Is this hope or fear? It is her first time hearing from Cardan in more than six months. Part of her hopes that he will revoke her banishment and ask her to come back, but why would he? He is finally free to rule the kingdom by himself and be as cruel and unhinged as he wants to be.

The package looks out of place here, everything from the dried flowers used to decorate it to its delicate grassy smell scream _Faerieland_.

Jude closes the door behind her as she brings the package inside, certain that someone is out there watching her. She won’t give them the satisfaction of seeing her reaction. She shoves the clutter off the coffee table and puts the package on it as she sits on the couch once again.

For a few minutes, she just stares at it, wondering if it isn’t better to just throw it out. 

_Like he threw_ me _out_ , she hears the intrusive thought over the roaring in her head, loud and unwelcome. 

She clenches her jaw, then undoes the strings tying the fabric together. Inside is a nicely carved wooden box topped by a folded piece of paper. She picks up the piece of paper and unfolds it. Her hands are shaking slightly, with fear or rage she does not know. 

When she reads it, however, the rage takes over.

_I miss you.  
Your devoted servant,  
Cardan_ 


Jude crumples the piece of paper in her hand and lets it fall to the floor. She opens the box and immediately sees red. 

“You’ve got to be _fucking_ kidding me,” she screams to herself as she picks up the crown, its jewels sparkling in the artificial light of Vivienne’s apartment.

She has never seen it before. Cardan either found it deep in the vault or he had it made only to send it to her as a sick joke. In a fit of rage, she throws the crown against the wall and storms to her room. 

Her clothes are scattered everywhere, some of them lying on her air mattress for what might have been weeks. She picks out the darkest, most flexible clothes, then reaches under her mattress for Nightfell.

If it’s trouble he’s after, he’ll find her. 

**Cardan**

“I almost feel bad, Your Majesty,” the Roach says, “pay up.”

I knew trying to sleep was useless, so I headed for the Court of Shadow headquarters instead, where I have been playing cards with the Roach and the Ghost for hours now.

“I hope you’re not cheating,” the Ghost replies, “the punishment could be deadly.”

I lost every single game.

I am not paying enough attention to win.

The cards in my hands are blurry, their numbers and designs utterly meaningless. 

All I can think about is Jude.

Jude, opening my package and packing her things to come back here. 

Jude, opening my package and immediately throwing it out. 

Jude, immediately throwing the package out without looking inside.

This woman has occupied my every thought for years, and I still cannot predict her moves. She is a puzzle, a challenge I want to lose myself in solving. All I can hope for is that she opened it, at least. 

My last letter. My last gift. My last chance.

If this is all the time I had with her, I royally (urgh) fucked up. 

The Roach gathers the jewels from the middle of the table and brings them to his side.

I discard my hand and reach out to shuffle the deck when his attention snaps to the door, to the small form who just entered.

Immediately, I get up and walk to meet the Bomb.

“Did you find her?” I ask

“Yes,” she says, “She picked it up. I could not confirm that she opened it, but she brought it inside.”

“How is she?” I cannot stop the questions from pouring out of me.

“She looks… different,” she frowns.

I understand she is trying to find a way to phrase it without upsetting me. I do not even know what would upset me more, her being happy in the Mortal Realm, or her being miserable. 

“I see,” I sigh, “Thank you.”

The words feel wrong coming from me—yet they seem right in the moment. I do not know if I have ever _thanked_ someone before. But these people, Jude’s spies, have been dealing with me for the last half-year. They have seen me at my lowest. I cannot go much lower than crying after a particularly gruesome nightmare.

I did not tell them this was my last time reaching out to Jude. From the look of pity in the Bomb’s eyes, she knows. I can’t stand it. I walk past her and leave the Court of Shadows.

The hallways are almost empty as I make my way to the cellars. The guards stand straighter as I pass the various rooms, but none of them stop me or try to talk to me. 

When I get to the cellars, I grab the worst bottle I can find. I wish the royal cellars had some really low quality alcohol—a budding brewer’s first try, anything that would taste as bad as I feel—but even the worst of the collection is still good. I drink the whole bottle.

Then another.

I drink until I forget.

Forget the responsibilities, the kingdom resting on my unworthy shoulders.

I try to forget about Jude, but I black out before I can.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost at the end! I don't really like this part, but I like that I got to write some Jude pov


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Vomit. It's not very descriptive, but it's there.

It is still bright outside when I regain consciousness and leave the cellars. I sway as I walk the hallways of the palace, willing my body to keep all this alcohol  _ down _ and not make a fool of myself in public. The guards standing in front of my rooms look worried when they see the state I am in, but they let me in without a word.

With no one around to witness me so low, I head straight to the bathroom and kneel in front of the porcelain throne.

High King, indeed.

The alcohol tastes worse now that it did when I drank it and I relish in how terrible I feel. I deserve it. The burning, the pain, the shame. Perhaps I should not have waited to reach my rooms, the people of Elfhame deserve to see what a wretch their ruler is.

I get up and head to the sink. I barely recognize the male staring at me in the mirror. I have not bothered with makeup in days now, and the old remnants of it smudge down under my eyes. I strip away my days-old clothes, then I wet a cloth and wash my mouth, my face.

When I leave my bathing room, I am immediately pinned against a wall, cold steel pressing against my throat. I wait for the dread and fear to kick in, but it does not come until I lower my gaze towards my assailant and notice the pure rage in her stare.

"Exiling me was not enough, you had to also add insult to injury?" 

"Jude," I gasp, "you're here."

"Yes," she presses her sword against my throat enough to sting, "and I will slit your throat before you can call the guards. So don't."

I narrow my brows. "Why would I call the guards?"

She's here.

She's back.

I know I should be terrified. Jude scares me, usually. Yet, today, it’s as if I do not care if she kills me. Seeing her one last time is worth my spilled blood.

"I thought we were past being horrible to each other,  _ Cardan _ ," she spits my name like a curse and I wince at the reminder of how horrible I used to be, "this taunt you sent me is cruel even for you!"

Silver lines her eyes, unshed tears threatening to drop, and I clamp my hands at my side to prevent myself from reaching for her. 

"Jude, I…” I let out a nervous laugh and her upper lip curls, “I never sent you any taunts.”

She snarls and removes something from her pocket.

"Yeah? What is this then?"

She waves a piece of paper around, one that was clearly crumpled but she tried to flatten as much as possible. I narrow my eyes to focus on what is written on it, but she is moving it too quickly even for my fae senses.

"Can you remove your sword and let me read it," I swallow my pride and add, "please?"

Jude pulls away her sword, still gripping it tightly. She gives me the note and I recognize it immediately as the one I asked the Court of Shadow to deliver.

"This is… the last plea of a desperate male," I look away from her, my cheeks heating with the shame of the confession, "I know you never replied the other letters and I should have taken the hint, but—"

I hide my face with my free hand. 

"I couldn't give up without telling you… this," I wave the note like she did earlier.

I can't get myself to say the words, not when she looks at me like that. Like she sees everything that I am, the fear, the want, the loneliness.

She backs away, sheaths her sword and paces the room. I just stand there, dumbfounded. Eventually, she settles on the rolled arm of an armchair and crosses her arms. When she looks at me again, her eyes widen and she looks away, suddenly realizing how naked I am. I would tease her for being prudish if it weren't for the fact that I am walking on eggshells

"Say it," she orders. She rolls her eyes when I narrow mine in confusion, "say what's on the paper. Out loud."

I realize that she wants to make sure I am not lying. She must not know that I cannot even  _ write _ falsehoods. It is what makes agreements between territories so long and boring—rulers arguing over wording, trying to weave loopholes that could be used in their favour.

I walk the few meters separating us, then drop to my knees in front of her. Her gaze snaps back to me as I take her hands in mine.

"I miss you, Jude, my Queen," I bring her hand to my mouth and gently kiss her ring finger. "Stay with me, I beg you."

Jude removes a hand from mine and reaches for her belt. I had not noticed before that she had something hanging there. She removes the fabric covering it, revealing the crown I commissioned for her. It is dented and one of the jewels missing.

"Suppose I believe you, why this?"

I stand up and pick up the crown. I run my thumb over a particularly bad dent. Did it get damaged as it traveled?

"To remind you what you fought for. I shouldn't have, I know,” I sigh, “I couldn't… fathom why you would stay there. Why you chose not to come back."

"I was banished, Cardan! You—" she grunts, "put some clothes on! I can't yell at you when you look like… that."

I raise a brow and run a hand through my hair, "Like what you see?" 

Her face gets redder, her frown deeper. It’s so, so easy to tease her. 

"No!” she snaps.

"Ah,” I turned away, making for my closet, “I didn't know human males could even compare."

"That's not it—" a snort, "Vivi did try. She wanted me to… date. We created a profile on one of those apps."

I have no idea what “apps” are, but I feel a weight lifting from my shoulders at the casual conversation. The confiding tone. I put on my robe, tying it at my waist. 

"I don't know their customs. They see that I don't belong."

I look back to the room and find her standing next to the window, looking out towards the mortal realm. She is holding the crown I sent her, admiring how the daylight reflects on its gems.

"You belong here,” I say softly.

She whirls on me, her eyes full of renewed rage.

"Will you STOP? You don't get to say that. Not after what you did,” she crosses her arms again, “If you really missed me, why didn't you come get me?"

I flinch, thinking back to the Bomb asking me the same question.

"You ignored my letters. I thought that was your way of telling me you were done with my kind."

"I never received any letter."

I roll my eyes, “I understand that you’re angry, Jude dearest, but don’t lie. Not about that.”

“I’m serious. Radio silence, for all these months.”

My heart drops. The Bomb was right, my letters never made it to her. My chest aches with a new kind of dread. By giving up, by not being pushy enough, did I cause her suffering? I always lacked ambition. It is only fitting that my faults cause her more pain.

“I suppose that saves me some embarrassment,” I laugh nervously as she turns back to the window, “some of them were quite… pathetic."

Jude does not reply. She keeps staring out in the distance, her fingers absentmindedly stroking the iron or the crown. I approach the window where she stands and look out.

“I somehow managed not to burn it to the ground,” I look to her and smirk, “yet.”

“You’re terrible,” she replies, and I swear I can hear a smile in her tone.

“I need you to keep me in check.”

I turn to her and gently take the crown from her hands. It burns my hands, the skin blistering from the iron, but I ignore it. For a moment, I just stare at it.

“Elfhame needs to know her High Queen," I raise my eyes to hers, "Jude Duarte, will you rule with me?"

She does not answer me, her lips clamped in a tight line.

"Do you wish for me to propose again?" I push.

A small smile creeps on her face and my knees threaten to buckle at the sight. 

"Maybe. I do like seeing you on your knees," she lifts an eyebrow.

"Don't push your luck," I reply with a grin.

She laughs and it is the most beautiful sound I have heard in months. Even she seems surprised by it, her eyes widening.

I ask again, this time softer, "Will you rule with me?"

Her throat bobs. She looks to the crown, back to me and finally answers, "yes."

The smile that blooms on my face is wide and genuine. I lift the crown above her head and, after brushing a strand of hair back in place, place it upon her head.

When I pull away, I let my hand linger, a knuckle brushing against her cheek gently.

"Welcome back, my High Queen."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for coming on this angst journey with me, I hope you liked it! Thank you for all your comments <3  
> If you want to curse me for giving you feels, I'm on tumblr [@laequiem](http://laequiem.tumblr.com)

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on tumblr [@laequiem](http://laequiem.tumblr.com) :)
> 
> Because I listened to [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b8z_qT3CheY) on repeat while writing this work, I decided to give it a french title. Mal d'amour could translate to love sickness/love ache


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